


Don't Mess With the Dead

by myRandomness_18



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Broken Sherlock Holmes, Case Fic, Drug Use, Drugs, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes on a Case, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2019-06-22 08:50:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15578169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myRandomness_18/pseuds/myRandomness_18
Summary: When Sherlock and John get an interesting and very weird case from Lestrade, they get caught up with a group of dangerous people. Then Sherlock goes missing...(Sorry, I'm not great at summaries.)





	1. Double Dead (The Case Begins)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first time using Archive Of Our Own so I hope I didn't do anything wrong. This is a plot bunny that I wasn't really sure how to go about writing; so I didn't. But then I decided to start start and see what happens, and thi is the result. I hope you like it! Also, please feel free to point out any mistakes I may make (not in a rude way, please). If there is anything you would like to see in this story then please let me know and I might add it in. Thanks for reading!

Chapter One  
Double Dead (The Case Begins)

John Watson got out of the cab that had brought him to Baker Street, paid the cabbie, and walked up to the door with 221 in gold on the front. He opened the door and walked up the the stairs to get to 221B. When he reached the top he listened carefully. There were no noises inside the flat. At least he isn’t shooting the wall  
again, he thought as he opened the door.

John walked into the flat to see his flatmate, ‘The Great Sherlock Holmes’, sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, with his hands together, his fingers just touching the bottom of his nose. John sighed.

“Have you done anything at all today?” he asked Sherlock, not figuring he would get a response.

He was right, the detective did not answer, or give sign he acknowledged the doctor was home. John sighed again and went into the kitchen. He put on the kettle and got out two mugs. When the kettle was boiled he turned off the stove and poured the hot water into the mugs and added teabags. He brought them into the living room and set one mug on the table in front of the couch, and brought the other to his chair, along with his laptop.  
Suddenly, Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he picked up his tea. “Finally,” he mumbled, taking a sip.  
John looked up, stunned. “Finally what?” he asked, clearly confused.

“Tea. I asked you to make tea hours ago.” Sherlock replied idly.

“Hour- Sherlock, I was at WORK hours ago!” John told him, exasperation lacing his voice.

“Hardly my fault,” Sherlock retorted, standing up and moving to the window. He slightly moved aside the curtain and looked out onto the street. “Get ready, we have a case.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but just then there was knock at the door, it was opened, before either John or Sherlock had time to go answer it, revealing a distraught looking Lestrade.

“Ah, Lestrade, good to see you. I presume you have a case you need help solving. Unsurprisingly,” Sherlock greeted as he walked over and stood near John, who had just stood up as well. 

“It’s a weird one Sherlock, and I mean really weird.”  
“Text me the details, we’ll meet you there.”

\----

After Lestrade left, Sherlock went to his room to get dressed, then he and John got a cab. Sherlock told the cabbie where they were going and they were off.

When they arrived at the crime scene. Sherlock jumped out of the cab, leaving John to pay the cabbie and follow him at a more leisurely pace. John took in his  
surroundings as he arrived beside the consulting detective.

They were beside an extremely overgrown pond that was a ways back from the road they had arrived on. The pond looked to be very shallow, probably only to John’s knees, and almost directly in the middle was the body of a man, half buried in the mud at the bottom. The man looked to be in his mid thirties, he was wearing a cheap suit with black leather gloves and had dark brown hair with specks of grey in it. 

As John took all this in, he tried to figure out what was so weird about it. He watched Sherlock scan the crime scene, clearly making way more deduction than John had. Sherlock turned to Lestrade and asked the question John had been pondering. “Well, are you going to tell me why you asked for my help?”

“Right,” Lestrade responded, “well, you see, we’ve already ID’d the victim. His name was Howard Bargroff, he was a banker, fell into a lot of debt. Should be thirty-six.”

“Should be?”

“Yes, because that’s how old he was when he died. Four years ago.”

John stared at Lestrade, appalled. “So this man was already dead before he was murdered?”

“Yes.” He turned to Sherlock. “Now you see why I needed you?”

John also faced Sherlock. The consulting detective looked ecstatic.

“Yes,” Sherlock’s voice was filled with excitement, “I need to examine the body.”

The forensics team extracted the body from the pond and laid him on the body bag that he would later be put inside to be taken to Bart’s Mortuary. Sherlock crouched down beside it and began inspecting it. John watched with a mix of fascination and disgust as Sherlock pulled of the body’s shoes. John gasped when what was inside the shoes was revealed. Or rather, what wasn’t inside the shoes. The man had no toes, it looked as though they had been cut off. Sherlock then proceeded to take off the man’s gloves, revealing that he was missing three fingers on his right hand, his middle, index, and pinky, and two on his left, his middle and thumb.

“John,” Sherlock startled John out of his thoughts, “would you mind taking a look?”

“Right, sure.” John crouched down to inspect the man, much as Sherlock had done, but he expected he would find out a lot less about the man than Sherlock had.

When John was finished, he stood up with a disturbed look on his face. “His fingers and toes…” John began, then stopped and had to restart. “His fingers and toes were removed while he was still alive.”

“Just as I suspected,” Sherlock said quietly, as if he had been talking to himself, but John and Lestrade ha both heard him. “Well John, we best be off. I expect I’ll be seeing you soon Gary.” With that, Sherlock turned and started walking back to the road where their cab was waiting.

“Right,” John said not sure what was going through Sherlock’s head. Then again, he never was. “Sorry Greg. Bye.”

Greg sighed. “S’all right, just make sure he tells me if he gets anything.”

“Will do.” John started to follow Sherlock back to the cab when he heard a voice talking to him. Donovan.

“Still hanging around with the freak?” Sally asked him as she approached. “If you need help finding a new flatmate, just let me know, I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone. Besides, anyone would be better than the freak.”

John huffed angrily. “No thank you, Sally. I’m happy with where I’m living. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” John hurried away, hearing Sally call after him, “Just let me know if you change your mind.” Then he got in the cab with Sherlock and closed the door. Sherlock didn’t say anything, so neither did John. The cab started moving and John watched as the crime scene slid away.


	2. The Factory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go to investigate and abandoned factory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to start off by saying how sorry I am to anyone who's actually reading this. I meant to post sooner, but I just couldn't think of anything to write, and I got pretty busy. I will try to post more frequently, and also I'm sorry this is so short. I will hopefully have the next chapter up within a few days. Please note that this has not been betad or brit-picked, any helpful criticism is welcome. 
> 
> of you want to know what the symbol john finds looks like, it's this. LINK TEXT GOES HERE </a>
> 
> (Sorry, I don't know if the link will work. I don't know how to do that.)  
> (If someone could help me that would be fantastic.)

“Sherlock, did you even tell Lestrade what you ‘deduced’ about the man at the crime scene?” John asked when they got back to their flat on Baker Street.

“I texted him,” Sherlock replied curtly.

“Right, and how did you know that the man’s fingers would be missing?”

“Lucky guess,” Sherlock replied, walking to the desk and opening John’s laptop.

“You don’t guess,” John told him, “you’ve made that very clear. What are you doing with my laptop?”

“Research John, this is exactly like a case I read about years ago, before I started working with Lestrade. I couldn’t solve it, but I think it has something to do with the Silver Occedere.”

“Aren’t they some group of criminals? Sorta like the Mafia?”

“They do all sorts of things, and if I’m right, they helped Mr. Bargroff fake his own death.” Sherlock immediately stood up and walked to the door. “Come, John.”

“What? Where are we going? And don’t talk to me like I’m a dog!” John huffed as he followed Sherlock out the door.

Sherlock hailed a cab and got in, telling the cabbie an address that John didn’t hear. 

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” John asked, annoyed.

Sherlock looked at him and blinked. “You’re angry.”

“No, I just want you to tell me where we’re going.”

“I told you that this was like a case I read about, Gary Arthurs, found dead in an abandoned factory, almost exactly two years after his funeral.” The cab stopped outside of the abandoned factory and Sherlock got out, leaving John to pay the cabbie.

John got out of the cab and ran to catch up with Sherlock, who was already halfway to the building. When he finally caught up, John looked at the building to see that it was a factory. An abandoned factory.

“So this is where Gary Arthurs was found then?” John asked, though it was more of a statement. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied. They reached the doors of the factory and Sherlock grabbed one and tugged. It didn’t open. “Locked,” he mumbled and took a few steps back. He then proceeded to ram his body into the door. He did it a few more times until the door finally burst open, with a loud crash.

“Bloody… Sherlock!” John grumbled as he followed Sherlock into the building. He looked around. There were old machines all around the factory, they looked like they hadn't been used in years. Because they haven't, John reminded himself, the factory is abandoned. John walked forwards to get a closer look at one of the machines. He dug his phone out of his pocket and switched it on, the faint glow illuminating what he was looking at. Painted on the side of one of the machines was a silver symbol. It looked almost like a t, but with a circle on top and wings. Maybe it was a key? What did it mean?

John took a picture of the symbol, but just as his camera clicked, he heard a shout. His heart sped up as he realised it was Sherlock who had shouted. John ran in the direction the noise had come from. He found Sherlock fighting with another man. It was obvious Sherlock was going to lose, the man must have weighed almost twice as much as he did.

John cursed and ran over to help Sherlock, only to have something hard hit him in the back of the head. John only had time to register that there was another man walking over to where Sherlock and the first man were still fighting, then everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, um, it's been a while. I am so sorry! I don't even have an excuse. Honestly I just haven't had any motivation to write, especially since I haven't been very active in the Sherlock fandom lately. I just want to like everyone who has actually read this and left Kudos and comments. It really means so much to me, and without you guys I probably wouldn't have continued this. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that you guys are amazing, and I hope you like this chapter!

When John finally came to, he was alone in the factory. He got up and a wave of dizziness washed over him, and his vision was filled with black spots. He sat down and took deep breaths. He stayed like that for a couple of minutes, until he remembered what had happened. He immediately jumped up. “Sherlock!” He shouted; but there was no answer.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed Greg Lestrade.

“John?” Came the bleary, confused and slightly annoyed voice of Lestrade. “Why are you calling me at bloody 3am?”

“Shit, its 3am?” John asked. He and Sherlock had arrived at the factory at just after 9, that means he’s been unconscious for almost 6 hours! “Greg yesterday, after Sherlock and I came to the crime scene, we went to an abandoned factory. There were men here, I didn’t get a good look at them. Sherlock was fighting with one of them. I tried to help but another one must have come up behind me. Greg, Sherlock’s gone! He’s not in the factory, and it's been nearly three hours. We have to find him!”

“John, you need to calm down,” Lestrade said, despite the fact that his voice was now laced with worry, “we’ll find Sherlock.”

John nodded, not caring that Lestrade couldn’t see.

“John, do you know where you are?”

“An abandoned factory.”

“I need an address, John.”

Right. An address. John tried to remember what Sherlock had told the cabbie before the left Baker Street. He silently cursed Sherlock for never telling him anything. “I’m not sure,” John finally spoke, “Sherlock didn’t tell me.”

“Right, of course he wouldn’t have. Just keep your phone on, we can figure out where you are.”

“Okay,” John said. He heard the sounds of Lestrade getting ready, then the sound of a car door shutting and an engine starting.

John stayed on the line with Lestrade, neither saying anything to the other. John heard when Lestrade got to the police station and started telling people what they needed to do.

Finally, Lestrade spoke. “John, we have your address, we’ll be there in less than half a hour.” Then he hung up.

John sat on the cold ground of the factory.

He looked over to where Sherlock and the man had been fighting. There were a few small splatters of blood on the ground, but not enough that John was worried about any major injuries. John just hoped that wherever Sherlock was, he would remain without serious injuries.

They would find him. They had to. Besides, it was Sherlock. He’d be fine. Wouldn’t he?

\----

After just less than half an hour, John heard noises come from outside the factory. He got up from the stone floor and ran towards the noise. John saw some officers that he’d met before, and a few he hadn’t. Then his eyes found Lestrade, who jogged over to him.

“John, show me where Sherlock and the man you saw were fighting. And tell me anything Sherlock might’ve mentioned about the case, or anything that you found.”

John started leading Lestrade to where he had been a minute earlier. “Sherlock said he thinks the case has something to do with the Silver Occedere, said it was like another case, Gary Arthurs. He was found dead in this factory, two years after his funeral.”

“I’ll see if I can get the files for that case once we get back to Scotland Yard. If Sherlock’s right, and this is something to do with the Silver Occedere, then I’m afraid Sherlock might be in a lot of trouble. We need to find him, quickly.”

John nodded. His chest was tight, and his stomach was a knot of worry for his friend. He hoped they would be able to solve this case, but he remembered Sherlock saying that even he couldn’t solve it when he read about it the first time.

“Greg! There’s something else!” John exclaimed suddenly.

Lestrade quickly turned to face John, who was pulling out his phone.

“I found this painted on the side of one of the machines.” John showed Lestrade the picture he had taken earlier.

Lestrade’s brow creased. “That the symbol for the Silver Occedere, sorta like their logo. It looks like Sherlock was right.”

Of course he was, John thought. Oh how he wished that Sherlock had been wrong, but, well, he’s Sherlock.

John showed lestrade the machine with the symbol and the crime scene photographer took photos from many different angles. When they were done, Lestrade offered to give John a ride home.  
The ride to Baker Street was silent, and when they arrived at 221 John got out and quietly thanked Lestrade before heading up the stairs to his and Sherlock’s flat.

He went up to his room and lied in his bed, but sleep would not come. He wasn’t surprised, he was too worried about what could be happening to Sherlock. He lied in bed until the light of morning shone through his window.

Sherlock, where are you? He thought. Please, please be okay.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The chapter you have all been waiting for! I am sad to say that I am disappointed in this chapter. It didn't really turn out how I wanted it to, but I figured I'd made you guys wait long enough, so here it is.

Sherlock opened his eyes to blinding whiteness. It was so bright it hurt, and he had to close his eyes immediately after opening them. After a couple of seconds he tried again, slowly opening and blinking his slightly watery eyes.

Once his eyes had adjusted, Sherlock looked around him. He was in a small white room. The room was empty except for a shiny bucket in one corner. There were bright fluorescent lights covering the ceiling. 

Sherlock stood up, his head throbbing. He walked around the room, running his fingers over the smooth walls. As far as he could tell, there was no door. He did, however, find that in the top corner of one side of the room there was a camera. He tried to reach it, but it was too high up.

There also seemed to be a speaker right in the centre of the ceiling. It was white, like the rest of the room, and it was obviously made to blend in, but Sherlock noticed it. He stepped right underneath the speaker to inspect it as closely as he could when suddenly the room was filled with a horrible screeching sound. Sherlock immediately covered his ears and stumbled into a corner, as far away from the speaker as he could get.

Sherlock had his face buried in his knees, and because of this he didn’t notice the two men that walked into the room until they had each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him out.

\----

When the men finally let go of Sherlock, it was to throw him onto cold white tiles. Sherlock looked around, relieved that at least the awful noise had stopped. The two men that had brought Sherlock to the room quickly left only to be replaced moments later by another man.

The man was average height, and of stocky build. He wore dark jeans and a tight black shirt. He smiled a Sherlock, revealing perfect white teeth.

“Sherlock Holmes, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Sherlock replied, getting up off the cold floor to end up in a more dignified and standing position, “but alas, I have no idea who you are and so far this has been anything but pleasurable.”

The man’s smile never wavered, instead he walked around Sherlock to the back of the room, where there were several cabinets lining the wall. There was a chair in the centre of the room, and suddenly Sherlock was pushed into it, his hands then ankles quickly strapped in. The man stepped away from Sherlock and walked over to the cabinets, out of Sherlock’s line of sight.

“Now I think we should have a little fun.” The man walked back into Sherlock’s line of sight, and he was now holding a knife.

Sherlock looked at the knife, then up to man’s grinning face. “What do you want?” He spat.

“You didn’t heed my warning, can’t let that go unpunished, can I?”

“Your… The dead man. His fingers. A warning! Of course!”

“Yes, and one that you should have paid closer attention to.”

The man stepped forward and slashed the knife down the front of Sherlock’s shirt, effectively tearing the expensive fabric and making a thin red line down his chest. Sherlock didn’t make a sound. 

The man grinned and brought the knife down again, this time making a slightly deeper cut. He did this a few more times, the cuts getting increasingly deeper every time, until Sherlock gave a small hiss, revealing his pain.

Then the man went back to the cabinets and Sherlock heard him rifling around until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He walked up behind Sherlock, then his head was tilted back and a cloth placed over his face. Water quickly followed and Sherlock coughed and tried to take a breath in, feeling as though he were drowning.

The edges of Sherlock’s vision began to go dark, then the cloth was removed from his face. The man was standing in front of him again, his grin still in place.

“Can’t have you passing out on me yet.” he was once again holding a knife, but this time he brought it the Sherlock’s chest slowly. As the flat of the blade was pressed against Sherlock’s ribcage, he realised why. The knife had been heated up, not hot enough that the blade was red, but hot enough that it hurt, and when it was removed the skin was already red and starting to blister. The knife was reheated and pressed to another spot on Sherlock’s ribcage, and this time Sherlock cried out.

After a few more burns in different places on the front of Sherlock’s torso, Sherlock was whimpering. His head was once again roughly tilted back, the cloth returned, and water dumped overtop. This time, it was not removed before he passed out.


End file.
